(For Kenton) <br /> <br />An iron hand has stilled the throats <br />That throbbed with loud and rhythmic glee <br />And dammed the flood of silver notes <br />That drenched the world in melody. <br />The blosmy apple boughs are yearning <br />For their wild choristers' returning, <br />But no swift wings flash through the tree. <br /> <br />Ye that were glad and fleet and strong, <br />Shall Silence take you in her net? <br />And shall Death quell that radiant song <br />Whose echo thrills the meadow yet? <br />Burst the frail web about you clinging <br />And charm Death's cruel heart with singing <br />Till with strange tears his eyes are wet. <br /> <br />The scented morning of the year <br />Is old and stale now ye are gone. <br />No friendly songs the children hear <br />Among the bushes on the lawn. <br />When babies wander out a-Maying <br />Will ye, their bards, afar be straying? <br />Unhymned by you, what is the dawn? <br /> <br />Nay, since ye loved ye cannot die. <br />Above the stars is set your nest. <br />Through Heaven's fields ye sing and fly <br />And in the trees of Heaven rest. <br />And little children in their dreaming <br />Shall see your soft black plumage gleaming <br />And smile, by your clear music blest.<br /><br />Alfred Joyce Kilmer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-a-blackbird-and-his-mate-who-died-in-the-spring/
